I make my way out of the library. My body feels better after the excess sleep, but the pain hasn’t left. It blooms with every movement, not sharp, not explosive. Dense. Packed. Like my muscles have been compressed into smaller spaces and are now negotiating with bone over territory. I wait for it to spike. It doesn’t. It just stays. Constant. Annoying. Almost polite. I bear it and move on.

  Outside, the university spills into public roads washed in layered light. Clubs bleed muted blues and bruised purples onto the pavement. Students move in clusters-some in tracksuits training late, others already drunk on the weekend and whatever helps it arrive faster. I pass through without stopping.

  In my prime I would ingest kilos of drugs but clearly I am not prime.

  People dress like they’ve made peace with excess. Boys stack loose layers, long coats over cropped inner shirts, trousers that fall too far, colors that shouldn’t work but do. Earthy schemes: black, cream, rust. Regal ones: muted purple, gray, off-white. Fashion has become quite diverse over the past few decades and people of Earth have continued some traditions of the 21st century. The fabric itself is superior. It is clean, heavy and unwilling to crease or stain.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  There are outliers though . It isn’t extremely rare to spot a gothic chick that has a smokin hot body rivaled only by Aphrodite. Cyberpunk accents are also creeping in at the edges. Most of the people do not commit fully, it is a rising trend for now.

  Women wear confidence like a cut of fabric. They show off their curves, tight jeans, shorts. They wear shades of pink, yellow and blue contrasting the boys.

  Above me, vehicles glide between buildings at speeds that would’ve been unthinkable once. The road hums faintly beneath my feet, magnetized. Trees line the sidewalks, their bases ringed with soft yellow lights that double as containment, technology disguised as atmosphere.

  My body aches, so I skip the substances and find a fine restaurant instead. I eat without paying attention to the food or the surroundings, hands steady, movements smoother than I remember them being. That’s when I notice my forearms fuller. Denser. Motion feels less wasted. Less drag.

  Infection.

  Whatever happened today didn’t shatter me. It refined me.

  Like something unnecessary was finally cut away.

  All my life, I lived inside a cage I didn’t know how to name.

  Now it feels like the bars are gone and I’m still standing.